


Magnetic Rail

by therudestflower



Series: The Commuter AU [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Chris loves his kids, Drunk Chris Argent, M/M, Responsible Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 15:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18528049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therudestflower/pseuds/therudestflower
Summary: Petopher fics in the The Commuter AU verse





	Magnetic Rail

Honestly. 

 

Christopher fancied himself such a serious man, but Peter personally was not overly surprised by their current state of affairs. 

 

Their current state of affairs being Christopher drunk off his ass on three margaritas and two mojitos—just five drinks! Who got drunk off of five drinks? Honestly, it was just a matter of self respect at that point to keep yourself together. The club they were in had just closed—at the completely respectable hour of 2 AM when there was plenty of partying left to be done. Peter had to practically drag Christopher off the dance floor and they went spilling into the streets where Christopher somehow met a kid who decided he must suddenly become a father figure to as he was wont to do. 

 

“Do you know how you’re getting home?!” Christopher asked, leaning in towards a club boy who grinned—just thrilled to have a silver fox like Christopher looking at him, much less speaking to him! “You have to be careful!”

 

“I was going to take an Uber?” the kid asked, laughing nervously. 

 

“An Uber!” Christopher cried, “No no, that is getting in a strangers car it is entirely unsafe.”

 

The kid laughed and started to say something but Peter introduced himself to the conversation. “Excuse yourself,” he told the kid, and gave him a  _ look  _ and the kid scampered. That left Christopher and Peter standing in the middle of a stream of people leaving the club, wandering aimlessly through the streets.

 

As the less inebriated party, it was Peter’s responsibility to direct the evening. “Christopher, shall we—“

 

“I need to call Allison!” Christopher yelled. He looked alarmed, like he had just realized he had forgotten something important even though nothing was important at 2 in the morning. He reached for his phone and started hitting it like a child.

 

“Christopher, your daughter is a self righteous—“ Christopher  _ pouted at him  _ like he was a  _ child  _ “My apologies. Your daughter is a responsible young woman with work in the morning she will be asleep.

 

Christopher paid him no mind, and within seconds Allison’s face was in Christopher’s phone, looking very confused.

 

“Dad?” Peter heard over the mull of the crowd, “What’s wrong?”

 

“Allison!” Christopher yelled, “Look at you you’re beautiful! I love you very much!” 

 

It was a good quality of Christopher’s, Peter had to admit. He was not afraid to tell the people he cared about that he loved them. 

 

Allison did not looked at pleased with this development at Peter was. “Dad, you’re drunk!”

 

“I am,” Christopher admitted, “ I am drunk.”

 

“It is very late,” Allison admonished. “I have to go back to sleep. I love you too, okay?”

 

“Are we hanging up now?” Christopher asked mournfully.

 

“We are,” Allison said, and the screen went back to the screensaver—a photo of Christopher with his children because Christopher was nothing if not predictable. 

 

Christopher looked quite put out by this development, and Peter had half a mind to tell him to call her back and give her a talking to about being receptive when your drunk father calls you. Allison was a perfectly reasonable person, she should understand that such calls were a gift—even at 2 in the morning. 

 

“I’ll call Isaac now,” Christopher announced, “He’ll be awake.”

 

“He won’t be,” Peter said, hating that his life had become such that he had this knowledge, “It’s Tuesday, he’s with Stiles. He’s asleep. Please don’t ask me how I know that.” 

 

Christopher ignored him. He was walking now, flowing with the push of the crowd, but still working his phone and within a minute a very confused Isaac was on the screen, with Stiles butting his head in. 

 

Isaac was slower to understand what was happening and mercifully stayed on the phone long enough for Christopher to tell him he loved him and have some conversation about the night.

 

Then the unthinkable happened. 

 

“Chris, would you please put Peter on the phone?”

 

What in the world would Isaac want with him? He had made no secret that he detested Peter, starting long before his relationship with Christopher. He had not once threatened to “annihilate” Peter. It was amusing really. Charming at best. Peter being in a relationship with his father had not softened his feelings. 

 

“Use your manners, okay?” Christopher implored. 

 

“Um. I will. Please put him on the phone.”

 

Christopher handed him the phone mouthing “Be nice.” Peter rolled his eyes and took the phone. How much damage could he do? There was nothing to say that hadn’t already been said. He paused a moment, taking control of the conversation. Isaac was in an overlit room wearing glasses Peter had never seen before, and Stiles was sticking his face in the screen, also wearing glasses.

 

Peter cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, dutiful son, he is in good hands.”

 

“What the fuck happened?”

 

What did it look like? Why did Christopher’s perfect gremlin of a child speak at though  _ Peter  _ had done something wrong. “Your very serious papa had some very serious drinks. He underestimated the power of the mixed drink. Don’t worry your sweet head, we’re getting a cab and going back to the hotel all in one piece. He insisted on calling you and Allison the moment we left the club.”

 

“He called Allison?”

 

“She was not pleased.”

 

Isaac groaned, “Okay, just make sure he like, drinks water tomorrow. Don’t let him die or anything.”

 

Was that trust? Was that faith in Peter’s ability not to kill his precious father? He knew how important it was to Christopher that his children get along with Peter, but Peter never found it to be terribly important. After all, they were grown even if they were unusually attached to their father, and Christopher promised that their opinion of him would not impact his.

 

Still. It would do to have at least one of them not think he was a true monster. 

 

“I will not,” Peter promised, and turned the phone back to Christopher. There was nothing else to be said. 

 

Christopher allowed himself to be convinced to get off the phone, and he allowed Peter to call a cab since he thought Ubers were far too dangerous. 

 

“You too, you know,” Christopher said sleepily in the backseat of the cab.

 

“Excuse me?” Peter asked, propping Christopher’s head up with a hand. It would not do for him to fall asleep in the back of this cab.

 

“I love you too,” Christopher said.

 

Peter stilled. It was not the first time Christopher had said it, drunk or sober but it still gave him pause.

 

It did not count, he decided. 

 

It counted when he said it to his children, he had loved them for years, but he had only loved Peter for thirty-seven days, or so he claimed. 

 

Christopher truly was soppy drunk. 

 

“Stay awake, my love,” he insisted, “when we get to the hotel you can try to adopt the lobby boy.” 

 

Peter would ask him if he still loved him in the morning.  


End file.
